


Reverting to Soft Reins

by Arithanas



Series: The Count and his Valet [6]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Broken scene, Consensual Violence, Crying jag, D/s, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Flashbacks, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Master/Servant, No Sex, Safeword (?), Sex whishlist, spoil the sub…
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:30:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4228878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1632. One should never spoil the service because, when you do it, you never know what’s in reserve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reverting to Soft Reins

**Author's Note:**

> This work relates to my fic "[Dressage](http://archiveofourown.org/works/216971/chapters/326287)"
> 
> Yes, I know, it also blindsided me.

Fantasy is hardly an escape from reality.  
It's a way of understanding it.  
~ Lloyd Alexander

Silence was the rule, but it has been years since it was enforced, mostly because the visits to the small _Rue Férou_ apartment have waned since La Rochelle. The downside of this general circumstance was that Grimaud was feeling bored. So far they have been alone for a long time, but rituals were maintained but it was not the same to have food ready for four young men and their servants than to have his master’s meager breakfast; he was never a man who ate a hearty one. It was the same for the shirts, same for the boots, same for the bed. Keeping his master like a prince was easy and mind-numbingly boring.

His master left his bedchamber already clothed; his half-closed lids announced last night wine disagreed forcefully with that early morning, but nothing else would be apparent to people who don’t live under his roof. He sat at his table and waited to be cared off. Grimaud smiled and put the plate and the bottle in front of his master with the satisfaction of duty done, barely aware of the void that he felt inside.

Athos looked at his servant; standing right by his side, that vacant glare was worrisome. Between morsels of food, Athos wonder where the trouble should be. Of course, it was his responsibility, since his servant was his propriety and Grimaud’s happiness and wellbeing fell into his purview.

“I have been neglectful,” Athos admitted after a long time, because he was magnanimous, and because he liked the startled expression on his servant’s face. “Today, I’ll compensate you. Pay heed. ”

Grimaud’s mind sharpened instantaneously and he rushed to kneel before his master, raising his face to stare fixedly to his face and pay complete attention to his words. ‘Pay heed’ was used so scarcely that it really meant to drop everything to hear and grasp his orders.

“As soon as I walk out the door you will find a piece of paper and something to write. You will have you until noon to make a clear and comprehensive list what do you need to be done to your person and hand it over to me on the garrison,” Athos made a small pause, “I don’t care for false shyness, Grimaud. If you don’t write it down, I won’t consider doing it to you.”

And without another word, Athos rose from the table and started to walk toward the door. Grimaud blinked perplexed for some moments until a sudden clap made him rose from the floor, he had been slacking on his duty, for the first times on months.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” Athos asked while Grimaud started to take the care of the last details of his master’s apparel.

Grimaud shook his head and at the end of the movement the quick and heavy hand of his master slapped his nape in that swift and affectionate discipline he was so pleased to impart. Then he was gone, out of the door, leaving Grimaud wondering what he would write in that list.

And he was terrified of having too much freedom…

***

Noon was approaching with great haste, Grimaud knew it, but he couldn’t force himself to cross the threshold of the garrison.

Grimaud had his list and a long one it was, but he was scared blind at the mere thought of delivering it to his master and the opposite choice — don’t cross the door and don’t give the list away ― frightened him even more; he had never flouted a direct command on purpose. He forced his fist to unclench, the list was supposed to be delivered in a readable condition. The question about how his master believed that writing a list would be good reparation for his negligence, especially since there was nothing to repair; his master was being doing such a good work… when he remembers to.

Grimaud paced in front of the door again, battling the fear of failure and the excitement of this new low in his submission to him. Grimaud was fully aware when he gifted his service and his work and his pain and his voice, but this piece of paper made him feel more vulnerable that his naked body exposed to his hands.

His master came out of the garrison among the blue sea of cassocks, Grimaud didn’t see him; he rather felt the weight of his eyes on his shoulders and his nape and turned around rather spooked to be immediately reassured by his presence. Athos raised his hand and beckoning him with a hand signal, since he never shout except in the most extraneous circumstances, and he stared at his servant keenly since he was late on delivering the demanded list.

Grimaud approached, his head was at rest because the choice had been lifted. The master is there, waiting and his hearth quivered inside his chest with reverence, his presence made it all simple; his foot felt light and he almost ran toward him, only his silent devotion refrain him from doing so. His hand handed the piece of paper and his eyes rose to his master’s face; once again, the complete serenity washed him with quiet delight.

“Are you aware that I will choose what to do of this list whenever I please?” Athos asked, placing the folded paper inside his doublet after a cursory glance.

A slow nod was the answer; of course, the choice is his, he was the master. Secretly, Grimaud was relieved because his master wouldn’t chide him for being a greedy little pet with such a long wish list. Any one of the items of the list, even if it was only one, it would be welcomed, as well as anything else his fertile imagination suggests him.

“Do you remember how to signal me your distress?”

The question put Grimaud’s hair on end, and his mind raced to the last time when he raised his voice or in some form denied his master’s rights and he came back blank. All the same, he nodded because he signal was clear in his mind.

“Off with you, then. Go home and do your work, but wait for me after the sundown.”

Purpose, he finally got some delightful purpose. Grimaud bowed and ran home, ready to get his job done because he had something to look forward that day.

***

_Master,_

Athos read the list once more while climbing the stairs, still a bit baffled by that strange list of desires.

It was unusual for Grimaud to ask for that amount of pain, of course, he thrived on pain before and maybe his servant missed a good beating. The thought almost brought a cynic smile to his face, since those were Porthos’ words, but truth was Grimaud never missed, lacked or wanted a good beating.

Athos put his weight on the rail and watched the Parisian dusk from his second floor landing, trying to understand what was Grimaud trying to say to him. That list worried him more than the listless stance Grimaud adopted that morning. Inside him a mixture of emotions twirled, Athos couldn’t make any sense of it; there was nothing on that list he hadn’t do before but it just don’t feel right. Athos watched the night falling over Paris and hesitated.

_I respectfully kiss your hand and, if you please, I beg you to:_

The door cracked a bit, Grimaud heard the creaky stairs and he knew his master was coming; a hundred of different emotions ran through his body and mind. He had been waiting this precise moment for hours, enjoying the fulfilling taste of submission in his mouth, expecting with his skin each caress of this rough fuck that was implicitly promised. His lips parted and a warm gasp leaved them; his eyes concentrated in the door before taking the step to meet the man who carries pleasure and pain in his hands.

Athos took his hat off, as usual, and extended the arm, waiting for Grimaud to take it and put it in its respective peg. Routine developed as he untied his cape and Grimaud took care of his sword, his left hand faltered for a fraction of a moment, as he caught himself in the act of giving a caress to Grimaud’s head. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, knowing in his soul that it was not the moment since his intent was not focused yet. Grimaud raised his eyes, tilting a bit his head, Athos made a signal joining his fingers to the palm of his upturned hand.

Grimaud nodded, but his slightly parted lips and furrowed brow were displayed with candor, Athos understood the message: his servant expected the good times and only received the customary ones. That didn’t delay Grimaud to raise and go to the pan and warm his master’s dinner; in the meantime, Athos took off his doublet, placed it in the back of his chair and sat, his eyes were lidded and his breathe, restrained. If Grimaud felt the change that only served to spur him towards a better service, because his hands never twitched when put off his master's bowl of stew, bread and cheese on a cutting board and bottle with his master’s favorite tumbler.

As the bread was broken, Grimaud took a step back, watching the serene way his master dined in the flickering lights of the candles. A small smile curved his lips, as if he repeated himself of the pleasure to serve food in perfect order, basking on the satisfaction of a service well done. His eyes noticed how the fireside rendered his master’s shirt unnecessary and let his fantasy took flight, until his master’s fist rapped the table calling him to his side. Grimaud rushed to obey.

Athos took a deep breath and rose from his chair before Grimaud could have a moment to reach the bottle; his servant dithered in his place with a shocked expression but the frown in his brow melted when Athos took him by the chin and forced his eyes up. The quivering smile in the corner of Grimaud’s lips, and the sudden weight in Athos’ hand, told Athos he was ready to begin. Athos fixed his eyes on Grimaud’s and watched intently as those eyes closed with a soft exhalation some people would mistake for resignation. Some people would never understand the sudden jolt down Athos’ spine carried by that sigh who proclaimed the complete submission of his servant to his command and whims.

Grimaud yielded to his will… there were few things in this world more exciting than that feeling.

_Slap me, hard._

Without a pause, because that pleasure was fleeting, Athos let go that chin and raised his hand, without anger or hurry. The slap carries the weight of that back, shoulder and arm and contacted Grimaud’s upturned face with more force than noise, as a good hit should be given. Grimaud let out a surprised whimper and fell backwards; Athos felt how the blood rushed to his nether regions. From his spot in the floor Grimaud looked at his master, the tip of his tongue tasting the blood of his split lip. The look on Grimaud’ eyes spoke volumes: surprised and exhilarated… hungry.

Oh, Athos recalled how a willing partner for his dark desires is Heaven’s boon, notwithstanding the command left his mouth without betraying his arousal: “Get up!”

Grimaud didn’t sprang to his feet, he did it slowly, feasting his eyes on that powerful male figure, framed by the firelight; his bruised lips trembled, his loins stirred, his mind rushed, his chest heaved. The Master presence filled the small room, crushing him with his greatness; he noticed how small, how unworthy, he was and that feeling gripped him: he rose to meet whatever that man was ready to offer, be it pain, indulgence or death.

Athos hand reached again, more forceful this time, the supple flesh on those gaunt cheeks rippled and that toy at his mercy staggered but didn’t fall; that pleased him. He took a step forward and Grimaud, eyes darting to each corner, backed off. Athos didn’t even scowl, it was just a natural instinct of protection; to confirm Grimaud’s desire, Athos extended his hand and beckoned his skittish pet to him. And Grimaud approached, his gaze fixed in his master, his hands shaking.

“You are enjoying yourself,” Athos said, totally unruffled, raising his hand slowly.

Grimaud’s response was to offer his face again, with a sincere smile.

_Pull my hair_

Athos grinned at him for a moment; this expression was received with a small swag, as Grimaud’s knees faltered. Before Grimaud could regain his feet Athos struck his servant twice in rapid succession, front and back, in one liquid but powerful motion, and before Grimaud got too dizzy, he used his right hand to ensnare that long hair, close to the nape and give it a mighty pull that sweep the poor fool out of his feet. Grimaud whimpered and trashed as Athos used that pull to force him to face him.

“Who told you you are entitled to pleasure?” Athos asked to his servant’s mien.

That expression in his master’s face made Grimaud groan with unsatiated lust; he could hardly stop his hands for the need to knead the throbbing hardness inside his trousers was demanding attention. Athos eyes on his were dark and menacing; his lips bared the tip of his teeth as if he was ready to take a bit of Grimaud. He was so frightening to see that expression in a man who seldom showed any delighted the slim servant, since it was there just for him. The sharp pain in his left nipple tore him out of his wanton revelry. His master’s strong fingers ―strong enough to twist coins out of shape— squeezed the flesh, the shirt and the jerkin and send wave over wave of pain.

Grimaud felt how his eyes filled with tears, that didn’t prevent another part of his body to weep slow tears. That shirt would be a trouble to clean…

“Answer me!” Athos demanded, but he almost regretted it; Grimaud’s distressed wince was making wonders for his arousal.

“No one…”

Athos let go his prey and Grimaud moaned and panted as the blood rushed to his mauled flesh, his servant’s face displayed his discomfort but even in the poor light of the room Athos was aware of how much the bulge between his legs had swelled. With the confidence that ownership grants, Athos seized Grimaud’s crotch and, slowly but firmly squeezed the contents, ripping from his servant’s throat a lustful whine.

_Call me something, anything…_

“Wet…” Athos said before pushing Grimaud away, “disgusting!”

The hate in his voice was worse than his hits; Grimaud felt the rejection and tried to return to that place of pain and longing between his master’s arms but he was pushed away, more violently. Before Grimaud could take action, Athos came to him, turned him around and put his hand on the neck pressing Grimaud’s head against the wall. The blow made more noise than damage, but Athos gave Grimaud a moment to gather his wits. There was not need to go beyond the boundaries; he would need Grimaud’s services tomorrow too.

_Hold me by my neck against the wall_

With his free hand, Athos caressed Grimaud’s head, enjoying the touch of those long strands of hair, trying to coax Grimaud out of his bewildered state. Grimaud mumbled something and shuddered at the touch.

“You are mine,” Athos whispered, because those words represented blessed assurance to Grimaud, “I’ll have my way with you…”

Grimaud mumbled and his chest heaved again before letting out a sharp moan when Athos brought his hands to that sorry excuse for an ass. That was more like it; Athos could draw breath again, because everything seemed to fall in its rightful place.

“You like it,” Athos continued, his voice deep and sultry with desire. “You want me to ride you.”

_Make me confess my arousal, oh, please MAKE me!_

Grimaud moaned from the deeps of his being; his master was dispensing unrelenting caresses where he knows his flesh was greeting and yearning them. Even over layers of clothes his hands ignited passion and this body, so used to be his tool, replied with liveliness, vying for his attentions.

“Won’t you tell me how much you want my cock…?” Athos asked and guided his free hand to Grimaud’s jerkin.

Grimaud felt how his master undid each string, slowly, sensually… his fingers danced over the crude fabric of his shirt in his way to the knots, and he was so close that the smell of his clothes and his sweat made him light-headed. Grimaud needed to put his head on his master’s shoulder but the grip in his neck hinder the action, he whimpered like a wounded cur all the time.

“I’ll be gentler if you confess how much you want me inside you…”

“I don’t want gentle…”

“I didn’t mean it as a bargain.” Athos insinuate his fingers toward Grimaud’s groin, “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

“…want you…”

“Again?”

“Fuck me.”

At the sound of those words, Athos let go Grimaud’s nape to pass both of his servant’s waist, gropingly searching for the strings on those trousers who opposed his wishes. At ease, Grimaud allowed himself to rest his weight on his master’s body, shaking with anticipation...

_Take me, roughly_

The precise moment resisted isolation and the way the events progressed was a bit tangled. Athos felt how Grimaud stiffen in his arms and the way his breathe became shallow so he halted his movements, giving his servant time to join him in the summit. That was the moment when Grimaud started to take shallow pants and Athos noticed how he broke a cold sweat.

“Eh…?”

The wooden wall tapped twice in quick succession, the signal was so urgent that Athos raised his hands and took two steps behind without a sound; it was the honorable thing to do but the way his lips parted denounced his alarm: Grimaud was calling off his wish list. Athos barely had time to worry about the situation, more or less the time it takes an eye to blink, before Grimaud jumped on him with a rictus of fury on his face.

For a fellow so slim, Grimaud was able to pack a wicked punch; nevertheless Athos was a soldier and caught Grimaud’s fist on his, trying to dampen the momentum. His palm went numb immediately but it was vital to resist and to conceal the strain on his shoulder and arm. It was obvious that rage came from a place deep inside Grimaud Athos had just discovered, and he needed a rock in his time of need. Athos was duty-bound to oblige, but he had no intention to let Grimaud hurt him or hurt himself throwing those sloppy blows. The next punch was avoided and Athos sidestepped his servant before wrapping his arms over Grimaud’s arms, seizing his pet by the elbows, ready to hold his ground, no matter how long it took.

Grimaud trashed in his arms, tried to twist his side and to hit Athos with the back of his head. All to no avail, Athos steeled against each movement, clenching his fingers at each movement, feeling in his thumbs how shallow was each inhalation. If that course was allowed to continue, it was an assured fact that Grimaud would faint.

“Take breath, stupid!”

His order received a strained sound that sounded primordial, almost a growl. That was a flicker of hope, because it confirmed Grimaud could hear his words.

“Breath,” Athos insisted, his mouth close to Grimaud left ear.

“Let go!”

“Breath and I’ll let you go.”

The next inhalation was deeper, but not deep enough, Athos braced against a new violent explosion but it didn’t come; Grimaud drew in again but the exhalation took form of a heart-rending moan, and then another until it finally became a long lament. Athos held Grimaud tight against his chest, years have taught him words were futile, actions always speak louder: he rocked their bodies together, in short arcs, like Grimaud used to do with him in the course his nightmares.

“Tell me…”

Grimaud sobbed, he mumbled a long time before he could say more clearly: “He to-touched me…”

“Who did?”

“That sailor…”

Athos tried to remember any sailor in Grimaud’s life but couldn’t dear life.

“He shouldn’t…” The words were true, the tone was warm, “but you are safe now.”

For a reason Athos couldn’t fathom those words renewed the cries, but not the fight. Athos closed his eyes and just keep rocking their bodies, trying to sooth his friend’s soul to the best of his capacity.

When the bawling turned into more subdued hiccups and sobs, Athos slackened the hug without letting Grimaud go, not yet; they took a couple of steps around the room at Athos insistence, without a word. Once Athos was satisfied that Grimaud was at least partially capable of autonomous movement, he guided his servant to the table.

“Sit,” Athos commanded in soft voice.

The movement was slow and halting, but Grimaud was doing his best to obey; while keeping a vigilant eye on Grimaud, Athos poured himself a sip and drained the tumbler in long gulps. He would never confess his fright, but he would acknowledge without shame to the fact he needed a drink. Then, he filled the tumbler again before placing it in front of Grimaud, who finally found a way to place his sorry as on the chair. Grimaud look at the container and raised his giddy eyes to his master, it was clear he didn’t fathom the purpose.

“Drink,” Athos said, making a show of patience.

Athos watched how Grimaud approached the tumbler to his lips, the way it trembled and how those long fingers tried not to let go their grip. Grimaud needed more time to regain his composure. When the tumbler was placed on the table and Grimaud raised his eyes to ask for a new command, Athos made a signal and it was followed promptly, Grimaud crossed his arms over the table and put his head on his arms. Athos shook his head, spared a caress to that mane and put his doublet over Grimaud’s shoulders.

“Stay right there until your feathers are unruffled,” Athos commanded, taking the bottle with him.

 _Above all, take care of me and decide on what is better for me_.

_Grimaud_

***

The soft crackle of the logs in the home was the first thing Grimaud heard upon awakening, and it was a soothing sound, it sound like home. He drew breath and tasted the smoke with the air, the light of the candles had died time ago, but the light was enough to recognize the cupboard, the windowsill, the head of the chair, all this domestic details that made a home from a house. Grimaud sat upright and peered around him, looking for the one who gave weight to that home.

His master was sat by the fireplace, drinking and watching the way the flame dance and polishing a bottle, Grimaud pressed his cheek against the doublet and inhaled its aroma before taking it out of his back; he had no memory of why he was wearing it. The noise of the chair legs being dragged backwards warned his master, who looked over his shoulder before making a sign to come closer, as he approached, his master silently explained the situation before patting his leg in that ancient signal of their youth. Grimaud laid his weight on the floor and used his hands to ask forgiveness.

“I bet you weren’t expecting such intensity,” Athos said and genteelly patted Grimaud’s head. “I have no use for harsh reins with you, at least not for the time being, and it seems you don’t need them anymore.”

Athos said nothing else, but kept his hand on the mane of his servant. They were silent, enjoying the radiating heat of the open heart and weighting the contents of each other’s mind. After a while, Grimaud made a signal with a couple of fingers, pointing to his master, the inquiry about his pleasure and satisfaction was put with some quick signals.

“I’m mostly good, thank you.”

Grimaud touched the knee what served him as pillow and his eyes pleaded, wanting to ease him, to serve him, to please him… He lacked time to explain why there was so important to know he could still provide for him.

“I got the reins, Grimaud, and we are not taking that road,” Athos said, avoiding eye contact. “I want to play with your body. I want full control. I want to tie you up. I want to use you, as if I don't care of you.”

Grimaud chuckled; it was obvious there was something similar to affection in his request. His master was asking for his enthusiastic participation on his project, as if he didn’t have it beforehand.

“I don’t want to gag you; I want to hear you moan as I take you slowly, and methodically… and completely.”

That sounded so good that Grimaud mumbled something inarticulate; it was nice to be desired and to have his needs addressed. Grimaud felt like his master’s most precious possession again. There was a small pause as his master took another sip of his wine, yet Grimaud pondered his word choice; his master was punctual with his meaning and he was a thoroughly dominant but protective lover in the sack. He was not demanding a service this time.

“I would send you to fix my bed, but bear in mind I would want _you_ completely.” Athos put his cup on the floor board, “I would be very cross if you are not _there_ for me, and I know you can't be there for me. After this last fright brought by your need of amusement, you can’t agree. I need to hear what had happened to you and until then, all those games ought to be suspended, but we are doing that tomorrow. That’s why we are not taking that road.”

Grimaud needed to stop himself because he was ready to spring to his feet and run for the room; he stayed where he was and watched the flames. God knew that sounded sensible and that he agreed wholeheartedly, nevertheless his master had been clear in his intentions, and he was being most obliging to Grimaud’s wishes so far. The power was again out of his hands; he had no choice and he must be honest, for the sake of both of them. His master was wise and thoughtful and right most of the time. Slowly, Grimaud sat and watched his master keenly, before raising his hand to his mouth and made a signal with his four fingers stiff toward his master.

“Speak,” Athos granted consent with half a smile.

“Thank you.”

The cup was raised again, the voice was leveled and cold “Anything else?”

Grimaud shook his head, returning voluntarily to his silence, which was the way he learned to say he love this man who fulfill him.

“Rest well,” his master wished and raised his hand in that dismissive signal that was his way to order his valet to bed.

Grimaud took some moments to enjoy the delicious humiliation of being told when to sleep before he raised and did a beeline to the large sofa by the window, ready to fell asleep as soon as his head touch the cushions; safe in the knowledge he was obeying and submitting to a man who appreciated him enough to take his submission and respect him still.

That night his dreams would be especially sweet since he was safe under his soft reins again.


End file.
